


Sing Me Like a Lullaby

by CallipygianGoldfish



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Babies, Cute, Domestic, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallipygianGoldfish/pseuds/CallipygianGoldfish
Summary: For some strange reason, everyone assumes that Aziraphale has the stronger parental instincts out of the pair of them. Little do they know that Aziraphale makes children cry, and Crowley actually enjoys the company of the tiny monsters. When Aziraphale turns up on Crowley’s doorstep one night, desperate for any kind of respite from the crying baby in his arms, it’s the start of an evening filled with wailing infants, too many cups of tea, and constipated love confessions.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 111





	Sing Me Like a Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ThouShaltNot's 'The Projectionist'. This is pure, self-gratifying fluff, no apologies <3

Time is irrelevant when you live for millennia. The week leading up to the end of the world felt like thousands of years to Crowley, but the months afterwards fly by. When life is mostly back to normal, it’s almost as if nothing happened, despite the weight taken off both their shoulders. It takes him a while to see Aziraphale’s bookshop without flinching from the memory of flames, but spending their evenings together with a bottle of wine and plates piled high with good food certainly helps him to forget about that day. 

During the weeks afterwards, Crowley almost migrates to Aziraphale’s bookshop, the miles of bookshelves and padded alcoves providing plenty of room for an angel and a demon to coexist happily. He passes it off as boredom, as now that he has fewer temptations, he finally has the time to catch up on his reading list. Much to Aziraphale’s horror, he gives up on serious literature after about the fourteenth century, and instead skips a couple of hundred years to the current young adult fantasy. With the future stretching on seemingly for eternity, he very carefully doesn’t think why he was spending all his days with an angel, bickering over chick lit and where they should go for dinner. It didn’t make much sense, but after the apocalypse, not much did.

When they get a joint invitation to Anathema and Newt’s wedding, both of them are stunned to learn that it’s been months since the events in Tadfield. They coo over baby Rosemary when they attend the christening of Anathema’s daughter, and afterwards find themselves enveloped in a witch cult ceremony where neither of them knows what’s happening. Luckily for Crowley, Anathema had chosen to conduct an outside pagan ceremony and no feet were burnt in the process. 

On the other hand, the christening water is definitely holy water, as confirmed by the holes flicked into Crowley’s shirt. The cake is dry, but the party afterwards is a good knees-up, and as they wobble slowly back to London, Crowley considers voicing the thought that they probably should just move the rest of his stuff into Aziraphale’s flat. He bails at the last minute, leaning against the wall to watch as Aziraphale struggles to slid his shop key into the lock. After triumphing over the door, Aziraphale turns to him with a smile, offering him a drink, and the moment is gone. 

It’s not often Crowley’s in his own flat, and it feels alien to wander around his concrete floors, watering the remaining house plants which haven’t migrated yet to the bookshop. He’s always liked the peace and quiet of his apartment, but he finds himself missing the walls filled with bookshelves and the constant flow of people in and out of Aziraphale’s shop. Aziraphale’s space has a constant open-door policy, with Anathema or Adam often popping by for a coffee when they were in London for the day. Having gained an unlikely bond with Pepper, the girl will often accompany Crowley around whenever they visit Tadfield, Aziraphale following along bemused by their discussions of existentialism and the fleeting mortality of the universe. 

His own flat on the other hand, now just feels empty. He very carefully doesn’t think about what that suggests about him, and tries to make a point to sleep in his own bed for at least a few nights a week. One night, when he’s actually in his own bed for once, the sudden racket at the front door jolts him awake. Crowley sits up slowly and reaches for his sunglasses, the thumping at the door fading away. He listens for a moment, before the front door bangs again, and Crowley groans to himself. He knew demons wouldn’t be as polite as to knock before obliterating him, so it was either a lost human or a desperate angel. Clothes miracled on in a snap of his fingers, Crowley crosses the living room and stops by the door.

“Crowley, I know you’re in there! Open the door!” Aziraphale’s voice is muffled, but Crowley knows it nonetheless. Rolling his eyes, he flips the lock and Aziraphale almost falls through the door, Crowley squinting at him in the dark.

“Angel, it’s the middle of the night, you better have a good reason for thi-”

“Help me! Please!” Aziraphale cuts him off with a wail. Sleep suddenly far away, Crowley’s eyes are drawn to Aziraphale’s hair, normally perfectly curled but now frazzled and almost bedraggled. A frantic glance down the hallway doesn’t reveal any impending threat, and Crowley checks him up and down for injuries, before he finally looks down at the ground. He stares at the large carry cot at Aziraphale’s feet, before realizing his mouth is gaping like a fish. 

“Please,” Aziraphale says again, wringing his hands as something under the blanket stirs and starts to cry. “I don’t know what to do, and it won’t stop!”

“What?” Crowley stares at the lump between them, before stepping back and ushering Aziraphale in. “Wait, did you steal a baby? I know we’ve had our differences, but this is too far-”

“No, no, don’t be silly, this is baby Anathema,” Aziraphale says, frantically looking around Crowley’s living room before placing the cot on the floor as if it were a live bomb that would explode if he jolted it. “They turned up at the bookshop, apparently there’s been a witch versus witchfinder incident in Minnesota and they had to fly to the US. Tonight. Leaving it behind. And Newt’s family are out of town, and they knew where the bookshop was, and well.”

“Hah, you’ve got babysitting duties? I love it.” Crowley grins as Aziraphale’s smile starts to border on frantic. He glances around again, and Crowley thinks that if there was an angelic equivalent of a deer in headlights, Aziraphale was doing a pretty good impression. “Please don’t tell me this one’s a demon child though, because I don’t think I can cope with that again.”

“No, _we_ are babysitting.” Aziraphale looks down at the cot and shakes his head. “It won’t stop, and it’s been a few hours, I’ve tried almost everything. I can’t turn it off!”

“Hm, no. If they trusted you with her, not much I can do.” Crowley shrugs and enjoys watching Aziraphale start to turn a funny shade of puce. In a normal situation, he’d probably be going to hell for teasing an angel, but it was too tempting to stop. “You have a baby now, angel, that’s how it works. They won’t be long, I’m sure you can cope for a day or two.”

“Hm, here’s the thing though,” Aziraphale says, looking at the ceiling then back at Crowley. “I… Can’t. Please, I am begging you, make it better?”

“You could have just called, you know. It’s not like you had to run across London with a baby.” Crowley could never deny Aziraphale’s puppy eyes, but he does enjoy watching him squirm. Rosemary’s crying starts to stutter and gurgle, and Crowley takes pity on her. She’s a sweet young thing, and he crouches down next to the cot, unfolding a blanket by her head and watching as she stopped crying for a second as she considered him. After a moment her face scrunches up again and they both wince as the high-pitched screaming continues. “What a poor darling. Aw, did mummy and daddy have to go away?” 

“Poor darling? Crowley, it’s a hell baby, I don’t know how the humans do this, it hasn’t stopped making that noise.”

“It? It has a name you know. And she’s just a normal baby, pretty sure anyway. She’s not a demon or the king of hell himself, are you? No, you’re not,” he says at Rosemary, who gazes upwards and starts to grumble again. He can’t help smiling at the tiny frown lines on her face, and he gently scoops her out the cot to hold her against his chest. She’s heavier than he remembers, and thinks that before they know it, she’ll be a teenager. 

“Yes. Baby.” Aziraphale frowns, and Crowley narrows his eyes. 

“Wait a second.” Crowley considers Aziraphale, who avoids meeting his gaze. “You actually don’t remember her name? Oh angel, this is fantastic.” He starts to laugh and Rosemary hiccups in his arms, before he gently starts to rock her back and forth. “What a darling she is, Miss No Name.”

“No, of course I know her name,” Aziraphale refutes with a sniff. “It’s Anathema Junior.”

“Good guess, but no. Begins with R.”

“Roxanne?”

“Nope.”

“Rickets?”

“Where did that come from? Of course it’s not bloody Rickets.” He shakes from laughter, holding Rosemary carefully next to his chest.

“Rocks?”

“Rocks? Hah!” Crowley’s lungs start to cramp from stifling his laughing for the sake of Rosemary. “Oh angel, this is perfect. We’ve got a baby named Rocks.”

Aziraphale looks peeved. “Just because I have more important things to deal with, Crowley, doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“Really? Okay then, for starters, she needs a change, a feed and then some sleep. Wanna take her? No?” Crowley holds her out carefully, and enjoys the view as Aziraphale blanches. “Thought not.”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t care, but this is unknown territory, Crowley. I have no idea what I’m doing, she hasn’t stopped making that noise, and I’m probably going to kill Anathema’s baby and they’ll never speak to me again!” Aziraphale runs a hand through his curls and Crowley understands how his hair got to the erratic state it was currently in.

“Okay dear, you gotta breath.” The endearment slipping out before he can notice, Crowley takes a quick inventory of the cot she arrived in, and shakes his head. “Let’s get her back to the shop, shall we? This place is far too cold for her. Did Anathema drop off anything else?”

“Yes, some clothes and a basket, why?”

“We’ll have to get back to the shop then, there’s probably some nappies in there.” Raising his eyebrows at Aziraphale, Crowley waits until realisation dawns. 

“Oh! Shall I do the honours?” He raises a hand in front of them, finger touching his thumb, and Crowley grasps the baby closer to his chest with one arm, leaning down for the cot with the other.

“If you could.” In an instant they were back at the bookshop, with the last of the embers slowly dying in the fireplace and the smell of coffee and dust lurking around the backroom. “Get the kettle on?”

“Righto.” Seemingly glad for something to do and always ready for a cup of tea, Aziraphale scuttles off to his small kitchenette hidden behind a few shelves while Crowley looks around for somewhere to put Rosemary. The move seems to have shocked her a little, and she blinks up at him in befuddlement. “Come on sweetheart, shall we see what your mother left us?”

By the time Aziraphale gets back with two steaming mugs and a packet of digestives, Rosemary is changed and happily gnawing on a bit of Crowley’s sleeve. She hadn’t wanted more than a few mouthfuls of food, and Crowley suspects she was just in need of some clean clothes given by how quickly she was settling down. He perched next to the fire with her on his lap, and took a biscuit from Aziraphale.

“She’s quiet,” Aziraphale stage-whispers, and Crowley rolls his eyes. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” he replies. “How are you so incompetent with infant humans, angel? We’ve literally been surrounded by them for thousands of years.”

Aziraphale shrugs sheepishly. “It never came up.”

“You remember her name yet?”

“Rosemary,” Aziraphale says proudly.

“You read her christening invitation, didn’t you?” Crowley shouldn’t be endeared by the smug look on Aziraphale’s face, but he can’t help it.

“Mm, you can’t prove that.” Aziraphale sets his cup down and considers Crowley with Rosemary. “Is it meant to do that?”

“Do what?” Crowley looks down to where Rosemary is frowning as she goes to sleep, her forehead creasing in a soft line. “Oh. Yeah, she’s fine. Do you want to hold her?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t, definitely not,” Aziraphale protests, hands held out in front of him as if to ward off an incoming threat, and Crowley suspects he’s more scared of Rosemary than he was of the King of Hell himself. Ignoring his protests, Crowley gently lifts Rosemary up and deposits her into Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale turns a slightly puce colour and very carefully doesn’t move, and they both watch as Rosemary twitches in her sleep, Aziraphale’s hands frozen in the air above her. She turns over and Aziraphale’s eyes grow even wider before a hand catches her head in a reflex. Before either of them know it, Aziraphale is cradling her in his arms like he’d been doing it his whole existence, and Crowley smirks. He knew it.

“See? It’s not that bad, after all.” There’s an ache in his chest as he watches Aziraphale experiment in gently rocking her, and despite being exceptionally evil and commended for his demonic doings, he can’t help the smile that appears on his face.

“I suppose not.” Aziraphale smiles down at her. “It’s like a rather large hamster. With less hair. And more teeth.”

“I dunno, have you ever seen a naked mole rat? They’re pretty similar.” Crowley shrugs. “You can put her down to sleep and she’ll probably be happy for the rest of the night. Or at least a few hours, depending on the baby.”

“Oh. Okay,” Aziraphale says. He pauses for a moment before looking up at Crowley. “And how exactly does one do that?”

Crowley shows him how to lay Rosemary down carefully for the night, and they watch as her frown lines even out and her limbs twitch occasionally. They decide to leave her in the cot in Aziraphale’s personal library, warm enough for the night and quite happy with only the side lights on, and they migrate nearby to a couple of chairs to sit, drink more tea and listen to Rosemary’s snuffles. The streets outside are quiet, the street lights casting shadows underneath the shop’s blinds, and Crowley doesn’t want to leave. There’s a peace here that seems to saturate the room, creeping its way into every book and it’s almost palpable enough to touch.

Aziraphale is muttering something about not being free childcare for humans, and Crowley turns to him, watching fondly as the angel grumbles to himself. He seems fidgety, running his hands over the nearest book spines without really noticing what he was doing, and Crowley quashes the urge to take Aziraphale’s elegant hands in his own. He finds a small chair to throw himself into and summons a small whisky to nurse as Aziraphale sits down opposite him, hands still restlessly moving.

There’s no noise from Rosemary, and he suspects that she’ll only wake now in the early morning, by which time her parents will have returned. This would be a good time to leave, his voice of reason says, but then he expertly ignores it in favour of listening to his heart. If he’d had a heart, of course; being a demon it was more likely to be indigestion that made his stomach twist around Aziraphale. Yes, must have been something he’d eaten.

“Oh, and what’s more, what if they give it to me again? What happens when it gets teeth? Crowley, do they bite?”

“Hmm?” Crowley tunes back into Aziraphale’s ramblings and has to shake himself. 

“Teeth, Crowley!” Aziraphale says impatiently. “Does it bite?”

“I suppose so?” He’s a little confused now. “Everything bites if you poke it hard enough. They’re not as painful as a hell hound though, I can tell you that much.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, almost sounding disappointed. “Well, that’s to be expected. What about teenagers?”

“You planning on getting a few of your own, angel?” Crowley asks, amused at the way Aziraphale’s ears turn a light shade of pink at his words.

“No, of course not, I just need to be prepared,” Aziraphale splutters. “When Rosemary is seventeen and running away to London, we need to know.”

“So you’re officially her uh, guardian angel then?” Crowley almost laughs outright at that. For someone who had a few hours ago been haemorrhaging over Rosemary’s crying, Aziraphale now seemed awfully invested.

Aziraphale pouts. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. We’ve done it before though, haven’t we?”

“We were quite good at it, if I remember,” Crowley says. Actually, he’d be surprised if Warlock didn’t need decades worth of therapy after what the pair of them had put him through, but he’d prefer to think of it as character building. “And with practise, we’d be even better now.”

“Exactly.” Aziraphale beams and Crowley realises he’s walked straight into a trap, one which shoulders the responsibility of Rosemary onto them both. 

“Ah, crap.”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale repeats with what would have been an evil smile if it hadn’t been coming from an angel of the lord. “So you don’t mind staying until the morning then, hm?”

“Aziraphale, do I look like I mind?” Spread-eagled across the chair, drink in one hand and feet stuck in the air, Crowley hoped he exuded enough confidence for Aziraphale not to question his presence in the bookshop. “You don’t have to make up excuses for letting me be here, you know.” 

Aziraphale turns a light pink and Crowley narrows his eyes. He’d meant it as a joke but Aziraphale had avoided his gaze as soon as he’d said it, and the more he thinks about it, the more he starts to wonder. Every time Crowley has been invited around, it’s been with an excuse. The sink won’t work, Aziraphale wants cupcakes from that place near Crowley’s flat, or one of the plants needs a look at. It was never purely because Aziraphale said I’m bored, come over. A horrible thought crosses his mind that Aziraphale never actually wants him there, he just wants the perks that come with being friends with a demon. The thought makes his stomach drop out, and Crowley doesn’t like it at all, but he needs to test the idea out.

“Well, then Rosemary can come with me, I don’t mind,” Crowley says with a shrug, trying to keep as calm as possible. “Just drop her over whenever you’re needed to babysit and you can get back to your reading.” That would eliminate the problem for Aziraphale, anyway. And he doesn’t really mind the company of children, even if he needed to child-proof his flat and remove most of the pointy objects at knee height.

“Oh no, Crowley, that simply wouldn’t do,” Aziraphale protests. “No, a child needs some sort of protection from all your demonic temptations. I’ll have to accompany her, of course.” He wafts a hand in Crowley’s general direction without any malice in it, and Crowley smiles. The shard of ice that had wedged itself in his spine slowly melts, and is replaced by something much warmer spreading through his stomach. Now he suspects why Aziraphale needs an excuse for his company. Even when set free of his chains to heaven, Aziraphale still hasn’t cottoned on to being able to do whatever he likes. Crowley figures that he might as well skip the hours of hand waving and wishy washy talking that Aziraphale was bound to spout if this wasn’t addressed, and instead decides to direct the problem head on. He’s probably going to regret this.

“Can I move in? Here? With you?” Crowley blurts out, debating whether it was worth trying to get his brain to conjure up some romantic notion. He gives up and ploughs on, trying to be as nonchalant as a sledgehammer in love could be. “Only like, if you want to.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blinks a few times and Crowley worries for a second that he’s going to have a stroke. “Of course my dear, why didn’t you mention it before?”

“Didn’t know if that was uh, something you wanted?” Crowley isn’t sure what his face is doing. It’s probably halfway between a pout and a squint, and it slightly hurts. It’s an attempt to remain calm and sophisticated, but guessing by the smile that was spreading over Aziraphale’s face, it wasn’t working very well. “Didn’t want to think I was rushing you, you know.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, lips turning up at the edges as he glances under his lashes at Crowley. “A lot of things have changed recently. I think I rather like moving this fast.”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth a few times before the right words come to him. “It’s been a few thousand years, angel. Anything from this point on? It ain’t fast.”

“That’s true. But yes,” he continues, looking pleased with himself as if he himself had asked Crowley to move in with him. “I would like that very much. We can put a few walls in the back and make a nice bedroom for you, I know you like your sleep. Oh, and maybe a conservatory too, I worry it’s getting too dark in here for your peace lily.”

“Good. Great. That’s, great.” Crowley can’t seem to stop his mouth from making weird sounds, so he gives up on it altogether. Aziraphale practically preens and smiles unabashed at Crowley.

“Now, judging by the society values that are mandated by fictitious romance stories, I think this is the part where you either confess your undying love, or kiss me.” Aziraphale looks quite happy as he shatters Crowley’s mind, heart and world. Brain short-circuiting, the most he can get out is a strangled cat noise that might or might not have been related to the word ‘what’. This was not where he saw this conversation going.

“I said, this is the part where-”

“No, no, angel I heard you,” Crowley butts in. “What I meant, is what? What the fuck?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face falls, hurt dawning. “I thought… Never mind.”

“No! I mean, yes!” Crowley swallows hard and quickly tries to stop the train wreck which was his mouth from ruining any chance of whatever _this_ was. “I’d like that. Very much.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale repeats, but this time a slow smile making its way back onto his face. “Good. I’m glad.”

Crowley swallows and watches as Aziraphale ducks his head, being suddenly very interested in his fingernails. Unbelievably awkward was not the way that Crowley saw this panning out, but apparently it was what he was going to get. He swings his legs around to sit forward onto the edge of his chair, and Aziraphale’s ears get a little redder. He’s still not meeting Crowley’s eye, and Crowley cocks his head.

“Angel,” he says slowly. “You do know that I’m in love with you, right?” There’s a quiet gurgle from Aziraphale’s direction as he continues to stare at the floor, and Crowley rolls his eyes. “For hell’s sake, would you just look at me for one minute?”

Aziraphale slowly raises his head and Crowley is struck by the wariness in his eyes. He slides off the chair to kneel in front of Aziraphale’s chair, and looks back up at him. 

“I do, you know,” Crowley says. “I didn’t realise you were quite so dense to not realise it, but I do.”

Aziraphale snorts. “Only you, Crowley, would make a love confession quite so insulting.”

Crowley’s lips twitch up in a smile, and he takes a risk, one that he’s known to be true for a while, but one that he’s never quite summoned the courage to do. “Of course, angel, that’s why you love me.”

“That may be so.” Aziraphale’s hand creeps forward and Crowley takes it in his own, warm fingers intertwining. A hot coal settles itself in Crowley’s chest at Aziraphale’s words, and he bites his lip as Aziraphale’s thumb presses against his wrist. “My dear, I think we both might have missed a trick here.”

“Better late to the party then never, hm?” If he’d been truly human, this is the part where his heart would have been in his throat, but instead he just feels this thrill run down his spine as he tilts upwards. Warm lips press against Crowley’s own and he shudders, lips parting instinctively. Aziraphale is on Crowley’s every sense, his smell and taste on the tip of Crowley’s tongue, and he can’t help pushing closer, hands winding around Aziraphale’s hips and itching to touch every part of him that they can. Aziraphale lets out a small squeak and tugs Crowley a little tighter until he’s practically sat in Aziraphale’s lap. He draws back, enjoying the dark flush of colour that’s rising in Aziraphale’s cheeks, and thinks happily to himself that maybe he hadn’t needed to worry about moving in to the bookshop. Curls askew, which might or might not have been due to Crowley’s hands, Aziraphale looks at him with such an open gaze that Crowley shivers. 

“So you’re moving in tomorrow, yes?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley stares at him. He can’t quite figure out how the angel still has control over his words, but he nods anyway.

“Sounds, uh, good.” His voice is rough and cracks on the last word as Aziraphale raises a hand to run it through Crowley’s hair. The gentle touch almost makes him melt, and the snake-like coil of warmth rises in Crowley’s chest, curling itself around his heart and holding tight. “As soon as Anathema picks up Rosemary.”

“Oh, fuck.” Aziraphale’s eyes widen. 

“You’d forgotten about having a baby, didn’t you?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so… distracting,” Aziraphale says with an exaggerated eyebrow lift, eyes glinting in amusement.

“I pride myself on it,” Crowley says with a smile. “Wouldn’t be a very good demon if I wasn’t, hm?”

“Crowley, I think you’re officially the worst demon I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

“My dear, it very much is one.” The chair they’re both squished onto somehow grows a little bigger, and Crowley slides in next to Aziraphale, arms winding their way around him. Demons didn’t snuggle, certainly not, but as Aziraphale said, he wasn’t particularly good at being a demon. And if this meant he got warm nights by the fire in a bookshop with an armful of angel, he was perfectly fine with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
